Tag: Father

“I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.” The subtle yet remarkable line from Ralph Ellison’s book Invisible Man published in 1952 continues to be a declarative voice in today’s society: Black men do not play a role in raising their children. There are so many, including my grandfather and my own father, who have proven this stigma to be incorrect.

Despite being considered invisible, black fathers have remained beautiful statues to emulate for their children. It was the year 1972 and a young black man, trunk packed and ticket in hand, boarded a bus headed towards Philadelphia with his parents’ directives echoing in his head’— “Work hard and good luck, son.” For the first time in his eighteen years of life Thomas Campbell was leaving home in pursuit of a college degree—the first of his siblings.

The opportunities many black fathers have generated are now profoundly evident in the accomplishments of their children. One of eight children, Thomas Campbell was born in 1953 in the Northeast corridor of Washington D.C. A year after his birth in 1954, the Supreme Court reversed Plessy in Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka declaring segregation in public schools unconstitutional. Fifty-three years later, I was graduating as one of a few African-American students from a private high school in Washington D.C.—a vicarious atonement of what may have been for my father had his parents been able to afford the tuition when he was accepted to a similar school. “I wanted you and your sister to have more than I could have ever dreamed of as a kid. When I grew up my family never had a car and never went on family vacations,” he remarked.

There are a multitude of young black men changing the world owing the qualities that have made them successful—dedication, commitment, and perseverance—to their black fathers.

“Jason, remember you can be whatever you want when you grow up.” As he tightened my tie on that Easter morning looking his ten-year-old son in the eye. “If you put your mind to it, then it’s yours.” Nineteen years later as I climbed the six shallow stairs in the auditorium at my medical school graduation ceremony my father’s words reverberated. A story nothing short of recurrent and delivered dreams: receiving a private school education followed by three more degrees—the last one permanently attaching the initials MD to my last name. What even I struggle to fathom is what my father must have felt when I walked across that stage and was declared a ‘Doctor.’

The magnificence of my achievement truly belongs to my father. Despite having grown up in a home where his own father could neither read nor write he journeyed to earn his law degree. Subsequently, he cemented a path for me and my sister to earn five degrees between the two of us. My father’s example serves as a declaration for my sister and I that boundaries do not exist.

Like a multitude of black fathers, Thomas Campbell exemplifies a vision of the world where the finish line is not dictated by the starting line.

During the 2016 season, I arrived very early one morning, to a small clinic on the West Side of Columbus. As I knocked on the side door, I was greeted by a middle-aged red-headed woman named Tina. This was Dr. Olson’s right-hand woman–sweet as pie but tough as nails–knowing exactly how to give Dr. Olson a dose of his own medicine. She tried to prepare me for what would happen next, but none existed. The back door to the clinic flew open, entering a man yelling what I heard as offensive football play-calls, and the more I got to knew him, it became the most accurate assumption. After he sat his black briefcase down in his office, I went to greet him. “Good morning, sir. My name is Jason Campbell.”

“Jason Campbell, the quarterback?” he posited.

“Something like that, sir” I smiled.

I felt automatically accepted. Jason Campbell, my namesake, had played for the NFL Cleveland Browns at one point in his multi-team career. From that day forth, I was the former QB from his beloved football Browns—young Jason Campbell—as he referred to me. Each day Dr. Olson would share a piece of Browns’ history, which included rattling off the entire list of players who once carried the reigns for the Browns.

Sipe. Kosar. Ryan. Graham. Couch. Nelsen. Phipps. Plum. Anderson. Testaverde. McDonald. McCoy. Weeden. Frye. Hoyer. Kizer. O’Connell. Holcomb. Quinn. Ninowski. Dilfer. McCown. Garcia. All men who have hurled the pigskin for the Browns for at least 10 games and Dr. Olson knew each one, their college institution, and their NFL winning percentage (occasionally off by .1).

Every day in clinic was filled with yelling, laughter, frustration and insight. Once, after we had addressed a patient’s rotator cuff tear with multiple physical exam maneuvers, the patient went on to list four or five more problems he wanted Dr. Olson to assess. “You just tore up, from the floor up, aren’t ya?” Dr. Olson said, aloud. With no delay, the patient responded, “Yes sir. I am!” Dr. Olson’s patients had come to love his lighthearted demeanor interwoven with the knowledge of a medical savant.

For me, these little moments have become threads of memories, which are woven into a picture that show the legacy of a great man. A man who embodied the true character of a doctor. Family physician trained, Dr. Olson received a master faculty appointment by Ohio University for his exceptional contributions to clinical training in this sphere. But there was more to Dr. Olson than any award could describe. He made his patients feel whole even when they were the most ill, just like only a die-hard, ever hopeful Browns’ fan could. I walked into countless patient rooms where the entire family had been treated by Dr. Olson—grandmother, daughter, and granddaughter. This all-encompassing trust was shared by more than a few in the community.

If I wasn’t sure of it before the memorial service, I was absolutely certain of it after. Lines and lines of people flooded the funeral home: from the bustling main hall, the filled lobby, and through the parking lot. Multiple photographs of Dr. Olson and his wonderful family, friends, and colleagues were on display. The most lasting one…the one of him in his Cleveland Browns sweatshirt.

A beloved physician proudly representing his beloved team.

A few weeks ago, as I watched Baker Mayfield perform in his splendid brash manner, as he had done for the Sooners of Oklahoma, I knew a cheerful Dr. Olson was reliving the 1986 days of Bernie Kosar, with an incomparable grin on his face. Finally, his team looked like the team he grew up loving.

For me, Thursday September 20th, 2018 was more than a football victory & more than a team overcoming the weight of the world; it was manifested joy by a beloved and unforgettable man.

After his passing, it is near impossible to fathom a Browns’ win without imagining Dr. Olson’s excitement. I always had difficulty understanding his love for the Cleveland Browns with what I saw to be their errors, burdens and faults. But, now I realize those were the exact human qualities that made him love his team and his patients. As a physician, his passion for his patients—through their sickness, addictions, and infections—gave him purpose so, they too, would heal again.

You’ve saved dolphins on the moon, speak 7 languages and have been destined to be a physician since you were in-utero. You’ve applied and now is the time for the interview. I’m no stellar standardized test taker and I certainly haven’t saved dolphins on the moon like some of my colleagues but I can interview well. That’s my cup of tea, if you will. Interviewing can be frightening. Like any great competitor who’s been successful many times before, butterflies still creep into my stomach moments before I step into an interview. I think that’s the 1st lesson to be a successful interviewer— treat every interview like it’s the most important one of your career. Act as if without this interview you’d never be successful even if this is your 19th interview and you have 7 more.

Treat every interview like it’s your first

Be humble in your discourse

Find a connection & run with it!

Talk Less, Smile More

Have Fun!

Anyone who’s met with me about interviewing knows I have made the analogy that interviewing is like doing the tango. It’s a dance with you and your interviewer. Your interviewer is leading so you have to gracefully allow them to lead. Answer their questions in a short and succinct manner because long answers will hinder the flow and inevitably lead to you tripping over their feet. If you’ve never danced with a partner, know that no one likes to have their foot stepped on and repeated occurrences will certainly result in an annoyed dancer/interviewer. And like a wonderful tango, if the interview goes well, it leaves both persons thinking about it long after the interview has finished.

As you’re speaking about your achievements, it’s important to acknowledge all that you’ve accomplished but recognize the person in front of you has accomplished much more! Your feats are impressive but let the interviewer be more impressed by someone who is still hungry to accomplish more despite already having done more than most.

When I was interviewing at Ohio State University College of Medicine, the fourth-year med student interviewing me asked me about my time in City Year and AmeriCorps. As I was beginning to answer, she chimed in that her husband worked for AmeriCorps, so a fire sparked in my head. I answered her question but also added in another few lines illuminating my thoughts about this opportunity. I watched her tirelessly jot down my comments. Stay honest. But if someone throws you an alley-oop, ‘Be Like Mike,’ and slam it!

I’m going to borrow a line from Hamilton—The Musical. If you haven’t seen it you’re missing out! It’s much more than a play; it’s an eye-opening three-hour artistic masterpiece. In Hamilton, one of the main characters frequently says, “Talk Less. Smile More.” Musical characterization aside, in any interview, if you’re talking more and smiling less, you’re losing. Winning in an interview is as much about your appearance and body language as it is your responses. Understanding who’s leading the conversation is a sure sign that you understand how to act and interact in different social realms.

And have fun. My high school Cross Country/Track coach, Anthony Belber, always said this each time before I raced and I never quite understood how I could have fun when there was so much pressure on the line… until I got older. An interview is an opportunity to show someone that your accomplishments have a human being behind them. It is a chance for you to prove that you are who they think you are. Nothing more, nothing less.